Chapter 3: The Lost Treasure

Infinite and boundless, the sanguine hue transformed into slender ribbons, floating beside her. For Su Ziceng, death was merely a few extra scars on her wrist, feeling as trivial as the surgery knife scraping away excess fat from her body. From the day she took her first steps, when Su Qingzhang coldly let go of her hand and she fell hard to the ground, to the biting remarks from Hang Yishao, various scars repeatedly appeared in her life. All the accumulation of big and small scars cracked open fiercely at the moment of death. Her only sensation was coldness. Such profound coldness, that chill that accompanied her for over thirty years, clung to her soul like bloodsucking maggots. No one liked her. Su Qingzhang hated her for causing the death of his frail beloved wife, Hang Yishao hated her for standing in the way of his pursuit of young and beautiful female stars, and the Chang’s mother and daughter detested her for her piercing sarcasm. People always found reasons for pointless hatred. Even as one of Mo City’s socialites, Su Ziceng did not have a single close friend until her death. She was obsessed with all kinds of jewelry and upscale department stores, encountering mockery, curiosity, envy, and flattery, yet devoid of warmth. At the adulthood ball at eighteen, Hang Yishao, who held her hand, no longer provided warmth. At twenty-five, during her wedding, Su Qingzhang, who gave her hand away, also lacked warmth. Only when the glass cut across her wrist and the heat gushed out did she truly feel sincere warmth. Her body drifted like a feather, warmth seeping in from all directions. A strange woman’s whispered voice: "My precious little Ziceng baby, when will you come out?" "It’s already been ten months; even Mrs. Hang, who was pregnant with me, has given birth to a baby boy!" The curtain that had been blocking the light was drawn open. The silhouette of a pregnant young woman settled in the rocking chair by the window, swaying rhythmically. Everything was hazy, except for the red diamond ring on the young woman’s finger, glittering conspicuously. With one hand caressing her belly and the other fidgeting with the ring, it was as though she was making a wish and talking to herself, "Your silly father, he found a fortune teller yesterday, claiming to be from Mao Mountain Taoism, spouting a load of nonsense." Su Ziceng tried hard to discern the young woman’s face, but the rolling sanguine colors muddled her vision. "Shush," the young woman lifted her hand from her belly. Unlike her rounded abdomen, her shoulders were thin, revealing her fragile health. "I don’t believe in those money-grubbing tricks. How could my precious Ziceng baby curse her own mother or father?" The rocking in the chair ceased, and the young woman struggled to sit up, her tone tinged with irritation. "What are you doing in here?" Another voice arose in the room, one that was familiar, a bit younger, and gentler—it was Su Qingzhang. "You’re throwing a tantrum and refusing to eat again." "If you won’t go and smash that fortune teller’s signboard, then don’t come into the room. It’s bad enough he curses us; he also curses our Ziceng, saying she won’t live past thirty-five," the voice of the young woman rose in pitch. "Master Wang is very accurate and famous both domestically and abroad. Qiao Chu, look, after the child is born, maybe we can find someone reliable to take her..." Su Qingzhang soothed, squatting next to the rocking chair. "Get out." The young woman brushed away the hands that Su Qingzhang had placed on her belly. "One’s life shouldn’t be dictated by a swindler’s lips. Even if our family’s Ziceng really has a short life, I, Qiao Chu, would willingly trade the rest of my own sunshine years for her lifelong peace." That "wishing you a lifetime of peace" turned into a sharp sword, piercing Su Ziceng’s heart. The silhouette of the young woman basking in the sunshine radiated warmth, with a faint golden hue that slowly peeled away the lingering coldness. "My dear baby, no matter where Mommy is in the future, this ’Red Love’ ring, blessed by Mussen, will always protect you in my stead," the words of the young woman, along with the lullaby she hummed, drew closer and closer. "Mommy," Su Ziceng ran forward with all her might, longing to throw herself into the arms of the woman who had vanished from her memory, who had never left a moment’s memory behind. The scarlet ribbons grew wildly, entangling her ankles and halting her advance. The "Lover’s Stone" ring, bearing Qiao Chu’s last blessings, ultimately became her means of surrendering life. It turned out that the warmest treasure in the world had always been in the palm of her hand. The scalding blood weighed so heavily on Su Ziceng that she was gasping for air, but the ring on her finger triggered her last will to survive, and fiercely, she pushed away the crimson cloak. The wine-colored velvet fell onto the carpet, surrounded only by the ticking of the second hand in the wall clock. Su Ziceng spread out her hand, her pinky adorned with a rose gold ring. "Where’s the Lover’s Stone?" She rolled off the bed and began to search for it. When she first received the ring, she disliked its outdated design; had it not been for the rare large red diamond and the prestigious Mussen-designed title, she would never have worn it on her finger. In the midst of her panic, the ring slipped off. It looked familiar; Su Ziceng stopped and looked at the ring, this ring that she remembered. With its Persian carpet bearing diamond-shaped patterns, a lady’s ring encrusted with heart-shaped stones, and the dark old-fashioned wall clock, Su Ziceng raised her head and saw the unfamiliar face in the mirror on the dressing table. This was Su Ziceng’s face, to be precise, her former face, unspoiled by hyaluronic acid, whitening needles, or a surgeon’s scalpel. Free of malice, those eyes were pure yet carried a hint of delicate luxury. Since marrying Hang Yishao at the age of twenty-five, her face changed along with Hang Yishao’s affairs being covered in the press. First, it was the eyes of a certain TV drama supporting actress, then the lips of a certain hostess, followed by the nose of a reality show contestant; anything Hang Yishao fancied, she couldn’t wait to recreate on herself, thinking that would secure a place in his heart. "Miss, the master requests your presence downstairs." The servant’s knock on the door interrupted her musing. Dad, Su Ziceng froze, her mind seizing on the black-and-white photograph. The servant outside the room, seeing no response, shook their head and turned to leave. This father and daughter were always out of sync, and who knew how furious the pampered miss would become when she saw Secretary Chang following her father? Su Ziceng took another look at the surroundings and then rushed to the curtains. The wind that blew in brought not just a refreshing coolness. In a summer when she was eighteen, Su Ziceng, reborn with the soul of a thirty-five-year-old, gazed at the flame-colored roses under the morning light in the garden, quietly revealing an unusual shade of bud yellow. Downstairs, Su Qingzhang held a jewelry box, inside which the pigeon-egg-sized red diamond lay quietly. Next to him, Chang Mei stared at the infinitely enticing "Red Love," a hint of greed flashing in her eyes.